


Six Years Later...

by Dolavine



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal, Anal Fingering, Angst, Bottom Dean, M/M, bare backing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-28
Updated: 2015-08-28
Packaged: 2018-04-17 16:17:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,177
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4673225
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dolavine/pseuds/Dolavine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the fight of their lives and Sam is basically alienated by everyone and everything, Dean leaves for parts unknown deserting Sam, to find himself. Sam moves on, sets up an antiquities business for cursed objects and makes a new life for himself. Six years pass and Dean comes looking for Sam. He never expects that Sam would welcome him home after what he did.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Six Years Later...

**Author's Note:**

> For the wincestbigbang Thank you to the wonderful and amazing batas by firesign10 and the incomparable selecasharp .  
>  **Art Links:** [ART](http://bluefire986.livejournal.com/4971.html)
> 
> [ ](http://s1234.photobucket.com/user/bluefire986/media/Six%20Years%20Later/Six_Years_2_3_2.jpg.html)

Dean’s sitting in the Impala, just staring at the front window of the antique shop, when he finally sees Sam. His heart almost stops. He hasn’t seen Sam in a little over six years. 

He looks a little different; he’s cut his hair short, is not as buff, is actually a little soft, but forty and not hunting will do that to a guy, and he’s lost that heavy furrowed brow he always carried around. He actually looks good – not that Dean expects him to look bad, but time does different things to different people. Dean checks out his own reflection in the rearview mirror – he looks a little more tired around the eyes, but he’s still got it.

He wants go inside and talk to Sam, but how do you walk up to your brother and slap him on the back, or punch him in the arm, or hug him until your arms get numb, after stranding him up in a no-tell motel six years earlier and never contacting him again?

Dean sighs like he’s heartbroken – and he is. He’s not sure how to fix this. He’s not sure how Sam feels anymore – hell, he’s not sure how _he_ feels anymore either. He just keeps watching that storefront window.

He'd gotten a tip from another hunter a few months ago that Sam was living in New York City and running a little antique business. Dean was pretty surprised that little Sammy, don’t-draw-attention-to-yourself, live-in-a-small-town, wife-and-kids Sammy, is living in a big city with his own business. Although he isn’t actively hunting anymore, buying cursed antiques and vaulting them keeps him in the trade.

There are hunter-friendly markings on the sign over the doorway that brazenly reads _Winchester Antiquities_. A small sign on the door reads _No Guns, Weapons, or Paraphernalia_. Dean can only imagine that “paraphernalia” means magic spells. 

Painted on the ceiling of the small overhang above the door is a devil’s trap, and Dean's pretty damned sure that there’s angel and demon proofing on the building. It’s only logical, since all forms of Heaven and Hell would be crazy for this place and its contents.

In addition to that, Sam might possibly be enemy number one in Heaven, as he did use Cas to beat back the darkness by shoving an angel blade through his gut and letting his angelic force into its mass. It had been quite the spectacle to see as Heaven’s light consumed Hell’s darkness. If Cas had only known the plan, he probably would have gone for it as he did once say, _Always happy to bleed for the Winchesters_ – but that surprised look on his face when Sam plunged the blade into him had been heartbreaking. 

That, coupled with all of their unresolved problems they’d had over the years, the countless lies, and Dean’s own inner demons brought on by the mark of Cain, had been the reason he'd left. He just couldn’t do it anymore; he had to be alone, find _himself_ again, and to do that he’d had to leave Sam behind. No note, no good-bye, no warning, just pack shit up and drive off without a word. Cut the ties and move on until the time was right to come back.

Dean takes hold of the Impala's door handle. _No time like the present,_ he thinks as he readies to pull the handle and get out, but something in his gut tightens up, and a feeling of fear washes over him, causing him to deflate and relax back into the seat. He sighs with disgust at his failed resolve, but his eyes are still fixed on Sam behind the storefront glass.

It’s getting late and Dean still can't get up the nerve to go inside and see Sam yet. The sun is going down and, despite himself, he falls asleep.

A tap on the window startles him awake. “What…” he says, looking around, and then his sleep-startled gaze falls on Sam’s face looking in the window at him. 

“Hey, sleepyhead.” Sam waves at him through the window.

Sam’s voice is muffled due to the glass. Dean rolls down the window. He can’t very well act like this is a random encounter; he’s been stalking his brother for hours outside of the store. “Um…” He doesn’t know what to say. 

“Well, are you going to come in, or are you going to stay out here all night?” 

Sam’s invitation is a little bit shocking: first, they haven’t seen each other in six years, and second, Dean ditched him the last time they were together. “Uh, I do have to use the head.” It's all Dean can think to say; it’s not a lie, but it’s not what he really wants to say either.

“The plumbing works in my apartment,” Sam laughs. “You better pull Baby behind the shop for the night if you want to keep her.” Sam points to a small alley. “It can get rough around here.”

“Yeah, thanks.” Dean doesn’t really know how to respond to the fact that his brother just asked him into his home and, more, doesn’t seem upset with him. He’s not sure when the other shoe is going to fall, but he’ll accept this for now.

Sam’s standing in the driveway beside his warehouse when Dean turns the corner. “You have a bag in the trunk?” Sam points to the back, curiosity lighting his face. “I’ll get it.” 

“Nah.” Dean grabs his duffel off of the passenger seat. “I got it.” He gets out of the car. 

There is an awkward moment as they look at each other. Dean isn't sure if a hug is in order, but after hesitating a second Sam steps forward and slings his arms around Dean’s neck. 

“I sure have missed you,” Sam says, exhaling hard.

Dean’s stunned, but he gratefully returns the hug. His arms instinctively remember the feeling of holding that body close. He smooths his hands over the soft cotton flannel of Sam’s shirt as his face is half-buried in his shoulder. “It’s been awhile.”

The embrace doesn’t last long, and neither seems to want it to end, but Dean is the first to pull away, backing up a step and patting Sam’s shoulders. He’s smiling for real, and he truly feels happy to see his brother again, all the way down to his toes, but at the same time he’s waiting for the resurgence of accusations and fallout from the last six years.

“Let’s get you inside.” Sam picks up the duffel bag and throws it over his shoulder. 

There’s a big metal door at the back of the building with an angel-proofing insignia painted on it and a huge iron lock that can only be described as ancient. When the door opens, the smell of old wood and musty fabric permeates the air. Dean looks around at the high shelves filled with things of all sizes and shapes. 

“Sure have yourself a gold mine here, Sammy.” 

“I make a decent living; it’s more for the cursed objects that the hunters bring me. The warehouse out back is really a vault. I had it built to the exact specifications in Dad's journal for housing cursed objects.” He starts up the narrow iron staircase. “I live upstairs.”

“Sweet.” Dean’s still marveling at the storage room.

They climb the stairs to the apartment. “Come on in, it’s home sweet home.” Sam throws Dean’s duffel on a chair inside of the door and heads for the kitchen.

Dean looks around. It’s modestly furnished with – what else? – antiques. “Seems like you’ve got a sweet gig here.” He flops down onto the sofa and stretches out his legs.

“I guess.” Sam takes two beers out of the fridge and heads back to the living room. “Make yourself comfortable,” he says wryly as he hands Dean a beer. 

They sit silently for a while just drinking their beers. Sam’s fidgeting nervously and Dean knows he can't open the conversation up with, _So, how fucking mad at me are you this time?_

Sam’s picked the entire label off of his beer before he ends the silence. “You, uh, needed to use the bathroom?” 

“Uh… yeah.” Dean looks around.

“Down the hall and to your left – there’s a night light, you can’t miss it.” Sam stands up and heads back to the kitchen. “I’ll make us some sandwiches,” he yells from the dining room. 

Dean shuts the bathroom door behind himself and leans over the sink. He feels sick as he looks at himself in the mirror. “Shit, why did you come here?” he asks himself. He still doesn’t know why he needed to come find Sam now, why he couldn’t just let things be as they were. He uses the toilet and washes his hands. He looks in the mirror again, taking a deep breath. 

“Why can’t I stay away?” he whispers to his reflection.

[ ](http://s1234.photobucket.com/user/bluefire986/media/Six%20Years%20Later/Divider.jpg.html)

Sam takes a deep breath and leans on the kitchen counter. His hands are shaking; he’d never realized that seeing Dean again would feel this hard. His hands move mechanically as he prepares food for them; there’s a Dagwood-sized sandwich and a fresh cold beer sitting on the coffee table when Dean comes back.

“Damn, Sammy,” he exclaims as he sits down in front of it. “Looks delicious.”

“Roast beef on rye.” Sam takes a bite of his own sandwich, which is only half the size of his brother's. 

Dean takes a bite and makes a satisfied sound. “Mmmm, damn, this is one good sandwich,” he mumbles with his mouth full, closing his eyes as he chews, obviously savoring it. “Sure beats greasy diner burgers and fries.” 

“Thanks,” Sam says with a smile. “So, you still been traveling around, hunting, keeping up with the family business?”

Dean stops eating and looks over at his brother. “Well…” He cocks his head a little and makes a ‘same old, same old’ expression. “I don’t know how to do much else.” He bites into his sandwich again. “I mean, I’m only eleventh-grade educated with a GED.” His mouth is full again, but Sam can still hear the sarcasm and a tiny bit of jealousy at Sam's success coming through.

“I had to work hard to get this, Dean. It didn’t come easy.” Sam frowns and puts his sandwich down and pushes the ottoman away from his knees. “My life wasn’t easy after you left. I had a lot of shit coming down on my head. I had to find sanctuary from both Heaven and Hell, alone.” He can feel his heart jumping into his throat. He thought he had forgiven Dean for leaving, for taking off and not saying good-bye or even ‘kiss my ass,’ but maybe not.

“I figured as much, I saw the traps and angel proofing.” 

“Yeah, angel-proofing was the least of my worries. Did you even know that I lived in the bunker for three months without leaving it? I got there on a Greyhound after I painted myself with sigils and protection spell tattoos.” He stands up and opens his shirt. His chest and abdomen are riddled with tattoos. Sam slides the shirt off of his arms to expose the numerous Latin phrases and markings. “Fuck Cas and his engraved Enochian on our ribs that time – it took days to have these done.” Sam’s voice is shaking now. “I had to ditch my entire life. I had no one, and you – you weren’t answering your phones, even for me.” 

“I get it Sammy, times were hard.” Dean finishes the last bite of his sandwich. “I couldn’t… I mean, I was lost.” He takes a long swig of his beer. “I spent the first two years in a drunken haze. I didn’t hunt; I didn’t do much else but drink alone in a sleazy motel room. I couldn’t be with you – hell, with anyone – in that state. I had just lost the Mark, my best friend, and I was lucky I had any sanity left at all after the things I had done.”

“Couldn’t or wouldn’t?” Sam’s feelings are rushing to the surface, surprisingly strong after the years of denial. “I forgave you, I told myself that what I did to Cas had to be done and that it was too hard for you to take, so you left. I thought you’d come back. I waited at the bunker, the only place I felt safe, but when you didn’t come, I spent a lot of time hating you for the next few years. Then I spent a lot of time missing you, and forgiving you was the most important thing I did.” He has tears in his eyes.

“Sammy, I…” Dean looks stricken, like he's not sure what to say or how to say it. “I get it, I was selfish. You needed me and I bolted.”

“No Dean, I didn’t need you, I _wanted_ you. There’s a difference.” Sam picks up his plate and heads to the kitchen. “There’s a bedroom on the right at the end of the hall, it’s yours.”

Dean looks surprised. “You want me to stay, here, with you?”

“You’re still my brother; I’d never turn you away.”

Sam doesn’t sleep much; when he hears a car with a low rumbling engine, he wonders if Dean’s taking off again, but he doesn’t get up to look. He doesn’t want to actually know.

Sam starts his day at seven am the next morning, just like always. There are things to do and the shop to open at nine. He takes a deep breath and peeks inside the room that Dean had taken. He has to know before he starts if Dean left or if he stayed. 

The door creaks a little as he opens it wider, and to his surprise there is Dean, sleeping soundly, his body wrapped up in the twisted blanket. Sam sighs silently with relief.

*****

Sam’s apartment smells like the bunker, old paper and old fabric. The bed squeaks when Dean turns over, just like the metal boxed springs they had at the bunker, even underneath Dean's memory foam mattress. There’s a lot about this place that feels like the bunker – the last place Dean ever called home and a place Sam confessed that he felt safe. He wonders if Sam needed it to be that way in order to feel safe again. He also wonders why Sam left the bunker, but he’s not sure if he wants to ask.

He feels like shit; if he didn’t already feel like a total heel for what happened all those years ago, now he knows that he was a right bastard to Sam, no wondering necessary. His thoughts are in turmoil, but still he feels safe here, in Sam's apartment, and he quickly falls asleep.

When Dean finally emerges in the morning, there is the delicious smell of fresh-brewed coffee. He makes his way through the apartment, following the smell until he reaches the kitchen, where there is a muffin and a note. _There’s coffee on the counter and bacon in the pan on the stove. I’m downstairs at the store. Sam._ Dean pours himself a cup of coffee and takes all of the bacon from the pan before sitting down. He mulls over breakfast, wondering if Sam really wants to see him.

Sam’s discussing something that Dean can’t quite hear with a cute dark-haired girl when Dean finally comes down to the store. 

Sam sees him. “Hey,” he calls as he waves him over. “This is Laura. Laura, this is my brother Dean.” 

Dean shakes her hand. “Hi, Laura.”

“So… Dean, I’ve heard a lot about you.” She has a beaming, toothy smile.

Dean sighs and glances at Sam. “From him?” He points towards Sam and chuckles. “I wouldn’t believe all of it.” He gives her a flirty smile.

She smiles up at Sam, who is rolling his eyes. “So you're not the amazing hunter that Sam’s told me all about?” She puts her hands on her hips. “Sam…” Her tone is mock-stern.

“What, it’s all true,” Sam chuckles as he puts a box onto the shelf.

“Oh, in that case, it’s all true, and I’m a magnificent lover, too.” Dean’s going overboard with the charm, he knows, but he can't seem to stop himself.

“I’ll be sure to tell my wife, she likes to be informed when I’m around magnificent lovers.” Laura grins as she gives Dean the brush-off.

Dean chuckles and looks around, embarrassed. “Good,” is all he manages to say.

Sam and Laura laugh. 

“So, you’ll go downtown and see about that box?” Sam asks Laura, taking a key from a safe and handing it to her.

“Absolutely. I’ll call you right away, when the transaction is done.” She takes an envelope of money from the cash register before turning around. “Iron box is still in the trunk of the car, yes?” 

“Yeah. You have the key, right?” He checks a small drawer under the register.

“Right here!” She flashes it from a chain around her neck as she goes out the back door.

“She’s perky,” Dean says, scanning the room.

“I was damned lucky to find her. Scott – her dad – was a hunter that helped me find this place. The guy who had it was selling cursed objects, and we scoped it out and took the proprietor down.”

“And you just decided to take up housekeeping here?” Dean inspects a glass paperweight. 

“No, there were so many objects that we didn’t know what to do with them, and I remembered the warehouse that Dad and Bobby kept objects in, which led me to taking this place over and legitimizing it. Scott put out the word that I curate cursed objects and lock them down in a vault, and to make money I buy and sell antiques and collectibles.” Sam takes the paperweight and puts it back on the shelf. 

“What happened to Scott?” 

“Hunting accident about two years ago, a werewolf.” 

“And you adopted little Laura Croft?” 

“No, she agreed to help me run the business, plus she has a degree in ancient artifacts.”

“Comes in handy.” Dean looks out the storefront onto the busy street. 

“I’m pretty sure this isn’t why you came looking for me,” Sam says as he moves beside his brother to look out the window too.

Dean takes a deep breath. “No, I guess… I wanted to make sure you were safe.” He’s really only telling half a truth. He loves Sam and misses him.

“Safe as houses.” Sam puts his hand on Dean’s back.

Dean closes his eyes and relishes in the heat of Sam’s big hand across his shoulder blades.

They don’t really talk much more about themselves after that. Sam shows Dean how things work around the shop and waits on customers as they come in. Later, he shows Dean the vault and the hundreds of things stored in there. It’s huge, especially for New York, with a sub-basement for objects that should never see the light of day. It’s also a panic room – just in case.

“Looks like you’ve thought of everything,” Dean says as he eyes a giant wall of oak and iron boxes.

“Seven hundred boxes there,” Sam says, turning a switch that makes the wall move to expose another wall of boxes. “And there is another wall behind that.”

“Shit, how many objects do you have in there?” Dean’s impressed and curious.

“Right now, about seventy-five.” Sam brings the first layer into place again. “You know, I have the rabbit’s foot. A hunter brought it in a few months ago.” 

Dean smiles and shakes his head. “Good times.” He raises his eyebrows. “Bela.” He laughs and then points at Sam’s foot. “You never did get your shoe back.” 

“No, but I did get shot.” Sam looks over at the wall and points to another box. “You want to know what else I have?” He walks over and takes out one of the boxes but doesn’t open it.

“What?” Dean crinkles his forehead and watches Sam curiously.

“That vial of pollen.” Sam puts the box on the table and runs his finger over the seal.

Dean’s eyes go wide and he licks his lips, which are suddenly dry. “The fuck-or-die pollen?” 

Sam smiles knowingly. “The very one.”

“Jesus, Sam.” Dean’s breath gets shaky as memories assail him. 

“I know. When it came in, I couldn’t stop thinking about you.”

“No wonder, after thirteen hours of sweaty, breath-taking, mindless passion. I never knew you had it in you.” Dean’s heart is beating a little faster as he remembers what Sam’s body felt like, pressed against his. 

“Apparently, I only needed a little extra coaxing.” Sam puts the box back and grins mischievously. “It’s been a long time though, don’t know if even with the pollen I could pull that off again.” He laughs nervously as he walks past Dean to the doorway.

“You and me both, pal.” Dean smacks Sam’s ass gently as he passes him. Sam looks back at him, eyebrows raised, but doesn’t say anything.

They’re going out as Laura comes in. “You didn’t call,” Sam admonishes, taking the iron box from her and putting it on a table marked with symbols. 

“Yeah, no cell reception in a devil’s den, boss.” She has a small gash on her right cheek. “Had to fight my way out. It wasn’t an easy deal when two demons showed up, but I got it and ganked two black-eyes in the process.”

“Damn, I’d love to have you on my team,” Dean says, marveling in her story.

“I am on your team,” she winks. “But your brother here taught me most of my hunting skills.”

Dean beams. “And he learned them from me.”

Sam clears his throat. “Dad.” 

“Who taught me and told me to show you.” Dean swings the credit for heroic teachings back to himself.

“Well, I’d better get this in the vault, and then I’m heading home.” Laura hoists the box up and heads for the elevator. “Basement floor for this sucker.”

“She’s not going to sleep with you, she’s a lesbian,” Sam says as they walk back up to the apartment.

“Never said I wanted to sleep with her,” Dean mutters as he gives Sam a sideways glance. “I can’t help it, I’m a flirt and you know that. Sure, maybe I'm a horndog too, but damn, Sammy. I do put some things before my own gratification.” 

“AKA, your dick.” Sam laughs and Dean joins in.

“Little Dean,” he corrects Sam with a wink. 

“Don’t you mean ‘hot-rod’? I distinctively remember you calling it that and asking me if I wanted to take a ride on it.” Sam sounds like he's enjoying their little trip down memory lane. 

“Hey, you’re the one who thought up those cheesy one-liners,” Dean snickers.

“Me?” Sam says defensively. “I’m the one who had to put up with those cheesy one-liners and pretend they were sexy.”

“Admit it, you loved it.” Dean’s full-out laughing now.

Sam turns around on the tiny staircase and bites his lower lip. “I love _you_.” 

Dean stops laughing and stares at Sam as he blinks twice while trying to let the words sink in – and the fact that they aren’t in the past tense. “Yeah, well… I’m a little old for one-liners now.” That isn’t what he wants to say, but it’s what comes out. He watches Sam’s face fall from hopeful and expectant to disappointed and distant. 

“You’re never too old for the cheese, Dean.” Sam quips lightly, but Dean can sense the unsteadiness in his tone.

[ ](http://s1234.photobucket.com/user/bluefire986/media/Six%20Years%20Later/Store.jpg.html)

Sam heats up some leftover soup from a few days ago for their dinner and grabs a few beers. “We're eating at the kitchen table tonight,” he calls to Dean, who’s in the living room on the laptop. He brings the laptop with him, and Sam makes a pained expression. “Researching for a hunt?”

“Ah…” Dean looks up from the computer screen. “Not really.” He puts a spoonful of soup into his mouth. 

“Believe me, a lot of strange things go on here. Enough to keep a hunter stationed here with no lack of work for a long time.” Sam takes a long swig of his beer.

“Good soup.” Dean’s still scanning the online newspapers.

“Laura’s wife made it. She’s a chef.” The small talk is picking away at Sam’s soul. “So, how long are you staying?” He figures that there must be a timeframe on this visit. Dean’s not going to put down roots or be domestic with his brother.

“I didn’t give it any thought, because really, I never thought that you’d let me in the front door.” Dean closes the laptop and takes a long swallow of his beer. He looks hard at Sam.

Sam sips the soup from his spoon. He doesn’t look up for a few seconds; he’s not thinking about what he wants to say, he’s thinking about what Dean just said to him. He looks at Dean, confused by his words. “Why wouldn’t I let you in?” 

“Look, Sam, we both know that I was a jackass. I admit it. Do you really think that I wouldn’t expect you to be mad at me for what I did?” Dean throws his spoon down and the soup splashes onto the table.

Sam takes a deep breath. “Yeah, but when has that ever stopped you from asserting your big brother card and pulling me back into your life again?” 

“Oh, come on, Sam.” Dean’s hand slams on the table. “I never forced you to do anything you didn’t want to do. You were always a willing partner.” 

“Do you really want me to go there, Dean? Because I can name at least three things that you did where I had no choice in the matter, where you just made the decision and that was that.” Sam loses his appetite and gets up, putting his half-eaten bowl of soup in the sink.

Some memories flash through his mind, and from the uncomfortable look on Dean’s face, he’s remembering too. The time he had Gadreel possess Sam. The time he took the Mark of Cain and didn’t discuss it with Sam. The demon deal to save Sam’s life. And maybe others, too, all the things he knows Dean carries around like a sack of guilt on his back, but won’t admit to.

Dean clears his throat. “All I know, Sam, is that you seem to be able to forgive me when I can’t forgive myself. That's something about you that I love, but I know there has to be a breaking point, there is for everyone, and honestly, I thought that this would be yours.” Slowly, he finishes his beer.

Sam can see the vulnerability in his brother’s eyes. He knows that Dean would rather drown his feelings in the bottom of a beer or whiskey bottle than talk them out. It was always fight or fuck with Dean, but never talk anything through, never admit any real feelings. 

He sits down in the chair next to Dean. His chin is vibrating with the pent-up emotions that he’s been holding back for years. “Dean, you’re my brother – my big brother, for Christ’s sake. You damn near raised me and you’re only four years older than me. I have so much to thank you for and so much to kick your ass for.” Dean’s hands starts to shake as Sam talks. “We’ve lost each other so many times, been lost and alone and out there on a limb, but we always find our way back. We’re destined to be together.” 

“Sam…” Dean says, quiet.

Sam feels his eyes tear up. “We’re soulmates.”

*****

When Sam says "soulmates", it hits Dean in the gut like a salt round – no real damage done, just a hard punch that feels like it should knock him out. “Whoa – whoa – whoa there, Sam.” Dean tries to back things up, change the topic. He’d rather fight than hear how much Sam loves him again, right now. “Chick-flick moment.” He grabs Sam’s beer and takes a few hard chugs from it. “You got anything harder around here?” Dean gets up and opens up the cupboard, desperately looking for a bottle Sam might have stashed away.

“Beer is all I’ve got,” Sam says, getting up and walking over behind Dean to press up against his back unexpectedly, pinning him between his large frame and the sink.

“Come on, Sammy.” Dean pushes back. He secretly loves this feeling, wants to give in, go limp against the counter and let Sam take over his space. 

“You know why you came back, Dean. You can’t stay away from me. You’re drawn to me like a magnet.” Sam puts his hands on Dean’s hips and holds him in place.

“What the fuck, we’re magnets now too?” Dean pretends to struggle.

“No, we’re soulmates, two halves of one whole.” Sam’s fingers dig in just a little bit harder as he leans down, hot breath puffing on Dean's bare neck. “Whose need to unite is undeniable in every way, always striving to get back together, and only feeling whole when we are.” His words ghost over the skin of Dean’s neck.

“You’re a fucking poet now?” Dean finds it hard to not spin around and kiss Sam; despite everything, he’s relaxing into his little brother’s grip. 

“If I have to be.” Sam kisses the tender spot just behind Dean’s ear. “And you love me.”

Dean’s body goes limp, and he can’t hold back how he’s been feeling anymore. “Christ, Sammy.” He can hardly speak, he's so breathless. “I wanted you to hate me. I think I even wanted you to punch me in the face, maybe knock my teeth out, but how the hell do I deal with the fact that you’ve forgiven me and still love me?” Tears fill his eyes as he lets Sam hold him up.

“Admit that you love me. Finally admit that you came back because it’s love, not guilt, and not a form of self-flagellation.” Sam pushes in tighter, keeping Dean from buckling over the edge of the counter. “And then you can forgive yourself as well.”

“Jesus Christ, Sammy is that all you want?” Dean’s hands reach back to find Sam’s hips. “I love you, always have, and God help me, always will.” His hands find the hard cut of Sam’s hips through his jeans, so he digs in and holds on. “I don’t know if I can ever forgive myself for hurting you, but knowing that you still love me, that goes a long way.” The tears spill over finally and roll down his cheeks, a salty mixture of sadness and relief. 

Sam buries his face in the nape of Dean’s neck and exhales. “It’s about damned time. I’ve been waiting six years to hear those words.” He takes hold of Dean’s hands and turns him around so that they are face to face. “Don’t ever lose _us_ again.” He leans down and kisses the soft wet side of Dean’s cheek. 

Dean closes his eyes at the soft brush of his brother’s kiss, his skin prickling with desire and longing. “Damn, I’ve missed this.”

*****

“Me too,” Sam whispers, the tear painting his lips with its wetness. He could keep talking, fill Dean up with everything he’s missed about him, but he’d rather show him instead. His hands grip his brother’s waist as he pushes up against him and slowly, almost too gently, ruts against Dean. “It’s been too long.” Sam’s words find Dean’s mouth as he covers it with a kiss. The taste of salt on Dean’s lips, and then the smooth flavor of beer as he invades Dean’s mouth, is familiar, and brings back so many memories of those nights when they’d just kiss, lazily making out, just happy to be in each other's arms.

“How did I ever live without this?” Dean pulls Sam in tighter, grinding a little bit harder against him. Dean’s cock is hard on Sam's hip, and Sam pushes his erection back with just as much enthusiasm. 

“Then this has to count.” Sam nibbles at the long line of Dean’s neck. He grips Dean’s flanks tightly and lifts him up to sit him on the counter. “That’s better.” He rucks the hem of Dean’s t-shirt up and shoves it under his armpits to expose the semi-hard muscles of his abdomen. Sam smiles at the soft, tempting curve of a tiny belly, and he wants to devour it. His fingers dance over the flesh as they make their way down to unbutton Dean’s jeans.

“Shit,” Dean hisses. His skin is visibly riddled with goose-pimples from Sam’s touches.

Sam slowly unbuttons Dean’s jeans, his fingers taking great time to undo the five buttons. He’s building anticipation for himself and his brother. It feels like forever before the last button is opened and he pulls the fabric apart to expose the thick line jutting up beneath tight black boxers. “The one time I wish you were commando,” he quips before cupping his hand over it. 

Dean juts his hips forward and grinds into Sam’s hand with a quiet moan. “I’ll remember that for next time,” he says. Dean threads his fingers through Sam’s soft short hair. “I miss the long hair – this kind of reminds me of when you were a kid, short and moppy.” He digs in for a tighter grip. 

Sam smiles before dipping his hand inside of Dean’s boxers. The head of Dean's cock is damp with a bead of excitement. “You always made fun of my long hair,” he says, looking into Dean’s glazed green eyes. “Thought you’d like it shorter.” His hand is gripping Dean’s ridged erection like there’s never been any time apart.

“Oh, don’t get me wrong, short is sexy on you, I just like having something to grab hold of and guide your head with.” Dean’s grinding into Sam’s hand and pulling his hair, and Sam can feel his skin heating up as a flood of desire washes over his body. 

Sam’s enjoying the look of passion on Dean’s face as his hand works over his big brother’s dick. He leans in and steals Dean’s mouth, kissing him again. It's a wet-sloppy-passionate kiss that dominates Dean’s mouth and leaves him begging for more. He clutches at Sam’s shoulders, holding him close, and Sam can feel it as a tight fluttering rolls through Dean’s belly. “Fuck,” he murmurs against Sam’s neck. 

“Wanna see you,” Sam says urgently. “I missed you so much.” He's consumed with lust, being here with Dean again. “I still beat off to thoughts of you every time.” He pulls at Dean’s t-shirt. “You’re overdressed,” he whimpers breathlessly. 

“We’ll fix that.” Dean steps backward, letting a tiny space open between them so that Sam can pull his shirt off. 

Sam examines the expanse of Dean’s body: the square strong shoulders that he’s always liked so much, the tiny freckles peppering his body like a god’s splatter-brush paint job. There are a few new scars, some extra damaged areas – he can tell that recently there were some broken fingers that mended wrong, undoubtedly due to poor unskilled medical treatment. He takes Dean’s hand and gently kisses those fingers, runs his hand over the new knife scars scattered over his shoulder and chest, then over the fading anti-possession tattoo, tracing its pointed edges and pentagram. “Why do I love your broken parts so much?” he whispers into the white streak of an old scar over Dean’s clavicle. 

“Maybe you want to heal me.” Dean caresses the long plain of Sam’s back. “Same reasons I love your perfect parts. They make us who we are.”

There’s a knot in Sam’s gut at that statement. He loves Dean, partly because he’s broken, and he knows that it’s true.

*****

Dean’s heartbeat goes from a soft excited flutter to a full-on raging thump. He takes a deep breath and loosens his grip on Sam’s hair, runs the pad of his thumb over the side of Sam’s face. “I need you so bad, like it’s a hole inside of me. Nothing else can ever fill this hole, Sammy. Not drink, or food, or all the meaningless sex in the world. It’s a hole shaped like you, and only you will ever make it fill up.” He knows he finally has to admit how much he loves Sam.

“Then let me fill that hole.” Sam leans into Dean’s soft caress as it passes over his temple.

Dean starts to snicker like a schoolboy. “You just said you wanna fill my hole.”

Sam shakes his head and rolls his eyes. “Leave it to you to bump this down a notch.” He tightens his grip on Dean’s cock and gives a slow hard stroke to the top before letting go. “This is only going to work if we’re naked,” he says as he starts to unbutton his own shirt.

“Then let's finish getting naked!” Dean says with great enthusiasm as he hops off of the counter and helps Sam undress. He removes the thin blue flannel shirt and drops it on the floor before moving to the t-shirt, slipping the worn hem up and over his little brother’s torso. He stops to look at how Sam still has a six-pack, but it’s not as hard now. He runs his fingers over the less taut muscles and examines the black ink scrawled across and etched into them before looking up into Sam’s eyes. “You’re still fucking gorgeous, still built like a damned Greek god.” He traces some of the tattoos marking Sam’s body as his hands slip down to the waistband of the jeans hanging low over Sam’s hips. 

Dean hastily rips the buttons open and yanks both the jeans and boxers off of Sam’s deep-cut hips. His brother’s cock juts up. It’s hanging a little lower, not hitting his belly anymore, but it’s still beautiful with its deep rose-flushed head and impressive length. Dean wraps his hand around it and gives it a loose tug. Sam grunts and pushes into the pull. “Fuck, goddamn,” Dean whispers at the heavy feel of it. He’d never forgot for one second what his brother felt like, but it’s a memory sense trigger when it hits his palm again, warm and hard.

Dean's pants and boxers are already half off of his hips, so he shoves them down to his knees one-handed, his bowed legs very apparent as he pushes at the crumpled denim.

“I’ve missed those legs.” Sam reaches down and runs his palm from the inside of Dean’s knee up his thigh and over his balls to his cock. Dean shudders and his cock forces out another thick clear drop of precome.

“Damn.” He exhales hard and clutches onto Sam’s upper arm. “If this kills me, I’ll die a happy man.” 

“Not going to kill you, just push you over the edge.” Sam grins evilly before running the pad of his thumb over the thick bead of fluid hanging from the slit and smearing it around the head. 

Dean’s hand captures Sam’s cock again. They’re pulling in unison, one tugging while the other is pushing down. Their bodies are tight together as they kiss and moan. Dean’s free hand slips through Sam’s ass cheeks, pulling and prodding at the tiny wrinkled entrance. Sam pushes back against the forceful contact. 

“Mmm, want to be inside of you,” Sam moans, his body instinctively pushing into Dean’s.

“Then let’s do it.” Dean pulls away, letting go of Sam, and Sam groans at the loss of heat. Dean pushes off his pants and shoes, sets them on the floor in a pile, then grabs his discarded shirt and lays it out flat before kneeling on it. “Come on, Sammy.” He reaches up and pulls Sam down. 

Sam kicks his jeans off, his limbs struggling until Dean finishes the job for him. “Thanks,” he says, pushing Dean to the floor and settling in between his thighs. Dean lets his head fall back, panting at the heat of him, but then Sam stills. “What happened here?” he asks, his voice quiet, and his fingers brush the scars on Dean’s inner thigh.

“Claws,” Dean gasps, arching his back. “It’s fine, Sammy, it’s healed.” He lifts his head, meeting Sam’s eyes, making sure Sam can see the want pounding through him. “’Sides, thought you liked my broken parts.”

Sam nods, his eyes going dark. “Then let me break you some more, Dean. Let me bust you open and fill you up,” he growls softly. He lifts Dean’s feet up, hooking them around his hips to give himself better access to his brother’s ass. Sam spits on his hand, then rubs it onto Dean’s hole, and Dean shudders at the warm splat. At first Sam runs his fingers around the edge, just barely pushing at it, but when Dean wiggles and cants his hips up for more pressure, Sam pushes one inside of the tight ring. Dean wails and bucks into the feeling of Sam’s digit entering him.

“Oh, yeah… right there, Sammy.” He scrabbles to take hold of Sam’s wrist and guide it, but he can’t reach it.

“No, no, Dean.” Sam shoves Dean’s thighs apart farther with his knees and spits down again before slipping another finger inside and plunging it in to the second knuckle. Dean moans and squirms, his body flushed with arousal and need. Sam’s hand comes down onto his belly for leverage. 

Dean’s cock is hard and jerking, leaking a thin stream of precome. He’s clutching the nearby table leg and digging his short fingernails into the soft linoleum. “Oh god,” he cries out. “Shit, Sammy, it’s been so long.” His words are almost a whimper at the pressure of Sam’s fingers stretching him open again, for the first time since the last time they were together.

“You're so tight,” Sam says as he scissors his fingers and inches them in deeper, past the second knuckle. 

“Six years will do that to you,” Dean groans as Sam twists in deeper.

Dean feels Sam’s cock jump when Dean admits to not having anal sex with anyone else since they were together. He pulls out and dives back in, twisting and scissoring, making room for a third finger. Dean always liked three fingers before Sam put his cock in, just to make sure he was good and relaxed. Sam spits one more time down onto the once-tight orifice, then slowly, almost methodically wiggles his ring finger into the opening. Dean arches his back again, rolling his eyes back into his head and squeezing his calves around Sam’s waist. He’s holding his breath until Sam bottoms out, and then with a mighty sound of relief Dean lets all of the air out of his lungs as he relaxes against Sam’s fingers. 

“Holy mother of fuck,” he exclaims before starting to move against Sam’s ebb and flow. “You feel so damned good.” His cock has gone from leaking to spasming, jerking out tiny bursts of pearly precome with each pass of Sam’s fingers.

Sam looks pleased with his work. Dean feels his body relax and his sphincter muscles release. He knows he’s ready. He nods to Sam, who pulls his fingers out and prepares to line his cock up. He spits down on his hand and slicks up his cock before one more splat onto Dean's loosened hole.

“No, wait, Sam.” Dean’s almost begging. “It’s been six years, I need more than spit for lube if I’m going to take that cock.” He points to Sam’s long thick hard-on.

Sam looks around and sees hand lotion on the sink, reaches up and grabs it. He starts to pump out several thick streams. 

“Hand soap?” Dean’s a bit mortified.

“No, lotion.” Sam keeps hitting the pump.

“Won’t be slick enough,” Dean insists.

“Look, it’s this or cooking oil.” Sam holds up the bottle of Jergen’s coco and shea butter lotion.

“Lotion it is.” Dean relaxes against the pile of clothes and prepares himself.

Sam lubes up his cock and then slathers a thick palmful over Dean’s ass, dipping his lotion-slicked fingers into his hole so that the entrance is nice and slick. He lines up his dick and takes a hold of Dean’s hip for leverage as he slides in. The head pushes past the smooth edge of the stretched ring as he slowly inches his way all the way inside. 

“Nghhhh, yes,” Dean mewls out as Sam fills him up. 

“Almost there,” Sam moans. “You're so hot around me, Dean. Feels so fucking good.” His voice drops an octave as he bottoms out and then stays still for a moment as they both adjust, getting used to the feeling. Dean flexes around him, tiny pulses squeezing Sam's cock gently that Dean knows will drive him wild.

The feeling of Sam completely inside of him is a relief. Dean missed this feeling, missed the contact, the sensations that only Sam can give him. He moves just a little bit, adjusts his hips for leverage, and Sam’s massive cock brushes against his prostate, sending shockwaves through him. His belly gets tight. He starts to sweat and his balls pull up. “Christ—” It's a warning but not fast enough; he comes hot and thick all over the soft line of Sam’s dark pubic hair. 

“Untouched?” Sam says with a smile. “Bet that hasn’t happened in forever.” He’s clearly rather proud of himself, that he brought his forty-four-year-old brother to orgasm without even having to coax him.

“Not since I was maybe twelve,” Dean replies breathlessly. He’s still turned on and his cock is at half-mast, but only because Sam is tucked in his ass nice and tight beside his prostate.

“My work here is done,” Sam laughs. 

“Oh no it’s not,” Dean urges. He starts to move his hips.

*****

Sam joins in and goes with the pace that Dean’s setting. Dean's smooth moist heat covers him like a warm blanket, and the tiny bit of friction coupled with Dean’s undulating movements quickly get Sam in a frenzy. He pumps in and out, his hands on Dean’s hips as he guides him, lifts him up and eases him back down again.

“Oh my god, Dean,” he pants. His heart feels like it is about to explode out of his chest as he rocks back and forth inside of his brother. “Missed you so much,” he moans, his fingers digging into Dean’s flesh a little harder as he tries to remain in control. “Never leave me again,” he begs in a deep breathy grunt. 

Dean’s almost incoherent as he babbles out soft whispers of curse words. His body is clearly on overload; he might just have another orgasm left in him.

“Can’t lose you again,” Sam says, his body almost doubling over as he pumps harder into Dean, his hands moving from Dean's hips to behind his knees. “Can’t… ever… lose… you… again,” he insists as he thrusts even harder in and out of his brother. Sam’s balls are tight, there is a heavy ball of heat growing in his belly, and he exhales hard as he thrusts into Dean and comes. “Argh,” he groans as he gives several more pumps, and then he’s drained. 

Dean’s cock oozes out a small weak string of come as Sam forcefully batters his prostate with the final thrusts of his orgasm.

Sam falls forward on top of Dean. “So fucking good,” he pants out.

“Almost forgot how good it is,” Dean finishes.

“Oh, I never forgot how good you feel,” Sam says, placing a kiss on Dean’s sternum.

“Neither did I,” Dean admits as he runs his fingers through the short, sweat-damp strands of Sam’s hair.

They lie like this for a while, just taking comfort in each other’s arms, before Sam rolls off of Dean to snuggle in behind him, taking his place as the big spoon again. He wraps his arms around Dean’s waist. He missed this feeling of their tired, satiated bodies soaked with sweat and muscles relaxed, pressing into each other. “So, are you going to stay for a little while or are you going to stay for good?” Sam whispers into the back of Dean’s neck.

Dean pulls Sam’s arm farther around his waist and interlaces their fingers. “You know I have to hunt. Keep Baby on the road as long as I can.” He pushes back against Sam’s body.

“But you’re staying for a while, right?” Sam says, hopeful.

“For a while, yeah. But even when I leave… I’ll always come back, Sammy. I promise.” Dean squeezes his fingers. “And there’s always a shotgun seat in Baby for you, whenever you want it.” 

“And my door is always open for you.” Sam squeezes back and pulls his arm tight against Dean’s abdomen. “And you never know, I might just fill that seat again, for old time’s sake.”

“I’d like that.” Dean takes a deep breath, and Sam knows he’s smiling from ear to ear.

The End


End file.
